A Long Time Coming
by adrien7
Summary: It's been almost ten years since Zevran left to fight his war with the Crows, leaving Mahariel behind to play politician in the shemlen courts. On a quiet night of reading for Mahariel, Zevran pays an unexpected visit to his Grey Warden. Some fluff and mostly smut ensues.


The soft sound of leather hitting stone was familiar to Thaeryn, due to how often she would close her books and throw them against the wall or slam them upon the floor. She cried rather often while reading, empathizing a little too well with an overwhelmed hero or someone who'd lost their love, only to end up doing something they wanted no part in. Then, of course, a character she rather cared for wouldn't make it through to the end of the story, making it all that much worse. Reading was the only time she really let her emotions go, and there was a small pile of books lying open, the pages bent and the spines nearly snapped, thrown haphazardly into the corner between her desk and the massive window. But, of course, despite her countless failures in the past, she was certain this fictional adventure would be much better than the last tens of them, desperately hoping things would go better in this reading than the last one.

She wasn't used to reading in the Common tongue until sometime after being taken away from her clan by Duncan, and afterwards she'd never put a book down. Having this much spare time, away from darkspawn and corrupt politicians and the Denerim Courts, one would almost always find her either wandering the Palace's halls or keeping her nose stuck in a book. Usually both at the same time. Today, wandering wasn't in her interests.

She was lying on her back on a bed much fancier than she had ever been accustomed to, her arms growing tired as she held a book high above her face. She had grown up with shabby and torn-up blankets, not really the leaves the shemlen expected of the Dalish but certainly not the silken feather-filled covers wrapped around her now. Living under a roof was still slightly strange, the walls that never moved to new places and the windows that always showed the same place when the curtains parted remained an alien concept to her, and she constantly found herself looking out the oversized window on the far side of the room and half-expected to find themselves near Kirkwall, or in Orlais, or somewhere other than her friend's royal palace. "King Alistair" had been kind to his old friend-much to the dismay of the other nobles in Ferelden-giving her a nice, if not overly large, room and expensive accommodations . The only thing she felt was wrong with it all was the fact that he refused to let her repay him.

All of her books she had bought herself, except for one that Alistair had brought back from Kirkwall and she had finished ages ago. The one she held now she had read a thousand times before, but she had hoped that with this reading they'd all live happily ever after (spoiler alert: they didn't). She began to doze off, so she rolled onto her side and brought the book closer to her face, wrapping the blankets around her even more. There was a tapping at her window, and she dismissed it as a bird pecking on the glass from the balcony. The tapping continued in small intervals as she read page after page of the story, and all she could think to do was applaud the bird's persistence. After several chapters she finally allowed herself to fall asleep, praying that her rest would be dreamless rather than filled to the brim with the usual haunting nightmares.

The Creators were merciful that night. The worst she endured was the burning memory of how cold Tamlen was as he slumped against her, his blood on her blade and hand. That ghost, though old, still crept in the shadows of her mind. Its continued existence was so familiar that she was certain she'd be lost without it. She spent a while staring at the wall when she woke, ignoring the dull pain of her arm, dangling off the side of the bed, the book sprawled open on the floor below her hand. The lack of light from anything but her candle told her that she had only been out for a short while. She brought her dangling hand up to her eye and rubbed the sleep out of it, wondering what happened to that persistent bird outside her window. She sat up, still rubbing her eyes, and when she opened them again, she saw that the bird had gotten inside. There was a Crow standing in front of the pile of books between the window and the desk, the one in his dark hand in ownership of a destroyed cover and bent pages being carefully smoothed out by calloused fingers. She tore the covers off and walked around the bed towards the assassin standing there, stopping halfway to him. He half turned his head and smiled a smile that she knew well. A smile that she had fallen in love with.

She whispered his name, barely believing that he was really standing there, and his smile turned to one of sadness. How long had it been? Mythal, almost ten years. She should have been angry at him for leaving her there for so long with little but a letter that she thumbed every night, the faint hope that he'd come back to her. Now he had, and instead of the intense rambling speech she'd planned, she ran to him and wrapped her arms around him. He dropped the book into the pile and returned the embrace, his arms going around her waist and face nuzzling her neck. He kissed all over her neck, her jaw, her face, and when he finally reached her lips, one of her hands came behind his head to force themselves closer together. He pressed lightly on her back to bring their bodies together with one hand, the other tangling in her hair making the soft silk of her finery feel like granite in comparison. His arms around her was a feeling she'd craved for an eternity after he'd left, and to finally feel it was like waking up after sleeping for a thousand years. The fact that she had actually woken up to him in her room wasn't as baffling as it should have been. It was such a welcomed surprise, and it was something she'd hoped for for almost a decade. She broke away from their kiss and took the tiny interruption to look into his eyes before resting her forehead on his shoulder.

"Zevran," she said again. She'd grown stronger over the years, but seeing him again brought her back to who she was before, traveling Ferelden with her friends and lover as the horrid weakling and terrible leader that she was, and she felt the pressure behind her eyes as she released a tiny sob into the seemingly new black leather armor he wore. "Ten years..." He chuckled and smoothed her hair down.

"I know. I am sorry I could not come to you sooner, amor. And, even now..." He trailed off, and she looked up to see him staring blankly out the window. She pushed off of him with his arm still around her waist and she balled her hands into fists on his chest.

"What? You're not staying?" His gaze turned to her again, the regret and ten years' aging clear in his face. She glared at him in disbelief. How could he leave for so long and return only to disappear again mere moments later?

"You know I would like to, but-"

"Then why don't you? Zevran," she pushed herself away from him and brought her fists to her sides, "you know I'd fight everyone in Thedas for you. I'd wage war with the Crows if it meant you could finally be free of them, and I know you know that. So what's keeping you from here? From me?" After his silence, she let the muscles in her shoulders relax, uncurling her hands. She glared at the ground and walked to the bed, resorting to staring at the intricate patterns in the blankets to calm her nerves. She didn't hear it, but she knew he was behind her even before he put his hand on her shoulder. He turned her, then put his hand under her chin, forcing her to look at him. He smiled like he used to, with only half of his mouth and with all of the brightness in his eyes. Much like the smile he wore the first time he kissed her. The smile he wore when he kissed her this time.

"Let me make it up to you." His hand brushed her hair behind her pointed ear, a finger tracing over her vallaslin, and he brought his mouth to hers once again. It was the kiss of an apology, the kiss of a lover who had no choice but to leave, and she knew it. She welcomed it. Her arms came around him again and brought him closer to her, his other hand on the small of her back, right above the tattoo he'd given her so many years ago. She let herself fall backwards onto her bed and he was careful not to hurt her as he fell with her, the hand behind her searching for the clasps and ties that held her finery together as he pressed his lips to her neck.

It became clear to him very quickly that figuring out a noblewoman's clothing was slightly different from the armor he was so accustomed to removing from Thaeryn's body, especially this dress obviously tailored specifically for her, and he gave up rather quickly, suppressing his urge to groan in frustration.

"I could help with that, you know," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. He simply hummed and moved his mouth to the center of her chest . He traveled lower down her body, leaving a trail of feather-light kisses straight down the middle and purposely ignoring every place she wanted him to kiss. It was only when he brought his hands under her dress that she realized what it was he was going to do. He took the hem of her smallclothes in his hands and pulled them down her legs, pulling off her elegant boots when the time came. Pulling her closer to him, he could smell her already and was eager to give her what both of them had wanted for ten long years. Her thighs he spread with his hands before bringing his mouth to her, kissing her folds first, then sucking on the little bead at the top, then lapping up the fluids that came from her. He circled around her clit over and over again, remembering her sweet spots and using every one of them to his advantage. She started to rock her hips against him, and he took that as his queue. His tongue left her pearl and moved to her entrance before plunging into her, feeling her heat tighten and twitch as he loved her with his mouth as softly and lovingly as he knew how. He looked up to see her head thrown back, her face red, nails digging into the sheets, and he smiled as he repeatedly thrust his tongue into her. After hearing her moan his name once, he came back to her clit and wrote Antivan poetry on her skin, filling her with two fingers after removing his gloves. Her tiny gasps became louder and more frequent, she began to cry out and whisper his name and swear in elvish. He felt it when she came, it hit her in waves and her muscles tightened and relaxed around his fingers, her clit throbbing against his tongue. He kissed her before coming back up to bury his face in the crook of her neck.

"Now," he said, "I would like some help with this dress of yours. I would hate to have to cut it off." The laugh she gave him was breathy and exhausted, but she was already reaching for the clasps of his armor as he fumbled with her dress. She was glad that this new armor was little different from what he wore when they traveled together, so it wasn't long until they were both bare before one another and certainly ready to do ten years' worth of catching up. They laid themselves properly down on the bed, and he had begun settling himself between her legs as soon as they were spread wide enough to permit entry. He pinned her hands above her head with one hand and she laughed.

"No rope this time, hm?"

"I was in a hurry, my dear." His other hand rested on her breast, maneuvering in ways he knew would get sounds out of her, and she was in no place to object. The sounds he wanted were muffled by his mouth being over hers again, her tasting his mouth more aggressively due to her own flavor within it.

He entered her slowly, taking the time to savor her slick heat, and once he was far enough in he allowed her time to adjust to him. He took his mouth from hers and moved to her jaw, then to the crook of her neck again, nipping and sucking there for some time as he kept up a slow and steady pace in and out of her, re-familiarizing himself with her body and her doing the same to him. She rolled her hips against his as he repeatedly buried himself within her, biting at her neck and jaw and clawing at her sides. He desperately missed the feeling of being inside her, how it felt when she came for him, and he was more than eager to experience the latter again. She hooked her ankles together behind his back to give him better access, and he began to pick up the pace, needing to feel her release. She started twitching around him, greedily trying to get every pleasant effect she could out of him, and he knew she was succeeding. They both felt themselves getting closer to that edge, and while neither wanted to end their admittedly short encounter they wanted little more than to watch each other unravel in their embraces.

Things needed to move along a little faster than they were. With every thrust of his hips he buried himself to the hilt, muffling his moans and grunts into her neck and leaving her with no way to silence herself. Her cries echoed about the room and didn't cease until finally, finally, she tumbled off of the edge, arching her back into him and crying his name and rapidly coming around him again and again until he was no more. He let go of her wrists to grab a handful of the sheets and sank his teeth into her neck, but even that only slightly quieted the almost feral growl he released as he spilled inside of her.

For a long while they simply laid there, him still inside of her and never wanting to separate from her again, even with all the troubles from the Crows that still hunted him. Eventually he disengaged himself from her and laid on the other side of the bed, and she quickly scooted closer and snuggled up against him. Her exhaustion was obvious, but she wouldn't willingly show that to him.

"I missed you a great deal, ma'lath," she said softly into his chest. "I'm," she yawned, defeated, "I'm very sorry you have to go again." He hummed again.

"As am I." She was asleep before he had finished saying it. He smoothed her hair down and tucked some stray bits behind her ear before kissing her forehead. "As am I."

* * *

><p>Unsurprisingly, she woke up alone.<p>

Of course, without a doubt, she had hoped and prayed that she would wake up to his arms around her, that when he saw she was awake he would kiss her head and say "Good morning, amor." No, she woke up to emptiness, to the cold that came with being alone. She woke up to the same thing she'd woken up to for ten years.

She did not want to get up. She did not want to leave the fantasy that she had just lived, did not want to leave this room where she had spent perhaps her last night with the man she loved to go politicking with the shemlen nobles, she did not want to spend her time fighting political wars when she should be fighting with her lover in his war against the Crows. But she had no choice. She never did.

With a loud groan, she forced herself to sit up, covering her chest with the blankets and searching blindly for her clothes on the floor somewhere. Giving up temporarily she sat up again and actually bothered to look around for her clothing. What she found, however, was something on her nightstand. Something that was not there the night before. A small, blood red bottle with a black glass cap sat there on the surface, and upon picking it up she could see the intricate designs carved into the bottle itself. If the thing was from Zevran, she knew better than to take off the cap and breathe anywhere near it. She laughed a little in spite of herself. A gift of lethal poison. He used to joke about that with her sometimes. It was a fond memory of a much simpler and more pleasant time.

After staring at the bottle for quite some time, smiling, she realized that there had been a small piece of paper near where the bottle had sat. She put the poison back where it had originally been placed and took the paper, her eyes widening in surprise upon reading the simple word written in beautiful handwriting on it: Ma'arlath. Her expression of shock faded into a sad smile, and she ducked her head and pressed the paper to it, closing her eyes.

"I love you too, Zevran."

And she was sure that Alistair had noticed, but not mentioned, the little red bottle with the black cap that she always kept tied to the waist of her dress from that night on.


End file.
